


Between the Idea and the Reality

by Pachacuti (NorthernStar)



Series: Falls the Shadow [2]
Category: Les Trois Mousquetaires | The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas, The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Anal Sex, Because OT2 to OT3, But Kind of With Permission, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-14 14:48:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3414671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorthernStar/pseuds/Pachacuti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Athos had helped his friends, as he would always help them, and they had shown their gratitude but that did not give him the right to expect more, to <i>want</i> more and to be spying on them…</p><p>Follows "Between the Desire and the Spasm" and will probably not make sense if you haven't read that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between the Idea and the Reality

**Author's Note:**

> Title also nicked from Elliot, who probably is still turning in his grave...

A faint sound pulled Athos from his sleep and as he came more awake he grew aware of the heat and want pooling in his groin.  It was warm and discomforting and took long moments to place.  He drank too much and slept too heavy to be often troubled by the base needs of his flesh and on rare instances he was, there was always the whorehouse or the less than reputable ladies in the taverns.  He had not been woken by desire for a very long time.

He turned onto his back, wincing at the drag of the sheet against his hardness.

Perhaps he should not be surprised.  Six nights had passed since…

_Aramis’ arms around his neck, the brush of his hair against Athos’ cheek, the desperate sounds that slipped from his lips..._

It had haunted his thoughts more often than he would care to admit, even to himself. 

The blackness of night bore down on Athos in his narrow cot, but could not wipe the image from his mind.

A small sound, a groan, faint and stifled, filtered through the wall; he probably wouldn’t have heard or reacted to it before and it certainly wouldn’t have pulled him from his sleep but it seemed, since that night, his body was primed and ready to follow where nature would like to lead it. 

It came again, fainter now, and yet he could hear it all the more clearly.  And he could recognise it.

Porthos.

He rolled away onto his side, putting his back to the wall that he knew separated his own small room from Aramis’.  The room that held the bed he had shared with them, the bed he had watched them fuck on and the bed on which he had…

It was wrong to think on it.  He had helped his friends, they had expressed their thanks.  That was all it was.

All.

_The feel of Aramis trembling against him, desperate for release…_

He sat up in bed, pushed his spread hands in his hair but the ghost sensation of Aramis was not so easily denied and he ached for it, to have it again just one moment more.

He needed a drink. 

He got up and left his room, but his feet did not carry him to the wine cellar, they stopped outside of Aramis’ door and would not go further.

There was a crack between the masonry and the thick door, too narrow, Athos would have thought, to see through, but as he laid his eye against it, he found he was wrong.

Aramis and Porthos lay on their sides on the bed, legs entwined, Aramis behind his lover.  Their hands were clasped together against Porthos’ chest but what drew Athos’s eye was his friend’s long thick cock which stood out.  It was full and thick, the foreskin pulled back to reveal the wet head and it bobbed slightly in a slow but unmistakable rhythm.

He was being fucked. 

Aramis’ hips were sliding slowly back and forth, so slowly, his face a pattern of concentration as he pleasured his lover.  Each time Aramis’ hips dove in, a shudder ran through Porthos.  Athos watched his face, his open mouth as he breathed through the sensations, until they obviously became too much and a groan, the same sound as he heard, escaped. 

Aramis stilled, dipping his head to press his lips against his lovers shoulder and uttering a soft, “shh…”

“It’s hard to keep quiet when you fuck me there.”  He murmured.  “Feels so good when you fuck me there and like that.”

A smile, another kiss. “I’m not going to stop.”

“Good, ‘cause I’m not asking you too.”

Aramis moved again, sliding _just so_ and Athos mouth went dry as Porthos _writhed_ and arched.  Athos could see his penis, red and engorged and weeping and he knew Porthos was close, right on the edge.  Aramis was keeping him there.

Aramis thrust again and this time Porthos gripped Aramis’ hand and pushed it down to his cock.  Aramis chuckled and closed his fingers around the flesh.  But that was all he did.

Athos focused on the hand.  Aramis had fine hands, with long and aristocratic fingers that belied their strength and the hard work that they did, and the contrast between them and the dark engorged meat of Porthos’ cock made Athos’ mouth water.

Aramis pressed in, harder this time, rocking Porthos into the sheath he had made of his fist.  Athos bit down on his lip as the sight of Porthos’ foreskin catching and sliding against Aramis’ fingers because God, he wanted to feel it. 

Athos shoved his own hand into his smalls and gripped himself.  He should not do this. 

They were his friends.

And they were rocking together now.  Porthos pushing back greedily, his hand coming down and Athos thought he was going guide Aramis strokes against his flesh but instead his pulled the hand up, skin shiny with his leaking juices, and sucked the fingers into his mouth.

_The taste of Porthos’ come in Aramis’ mouth…_

He remembered it.

_The salty flavour of Aramis on Porthos’ tongue…_

He could still taste it. 

Another thrust and Porthos arched and gasped and shook and his penis pulsed, shooting out a long stream of come.

Aramis moaned, forehead pressing against Porthos’ hair.

After a long moment, Porthos chuckled softly.  “Now who’s making noise?”  He said with the breathless, lax vowels of the very well satisfied.

“It is difficult not to when you come so hard around my cock it feels like it’s in a vice.”

“That’s hardly my fault.”  Porthos rolled over to face his friend and as he shifted, Athos could see that Aramis was still erect.  His flesh still looked a little bruised but clearly most of the pain had gone.  Perhaps that was what drove Aramis’ slow, slow love-making, perhaps that it was they always did together.

A flash of anger hit him.  Why should he care what they did together?  Why did it suddenly matter?

Aramis rolled onto his back and with a wide smile; Porthos propped his head up on one hand while the other closed around Aramis and began to stroke him.  His eyes were focused, not on his work, by on Aramis’ face.

_“I love watching you come.”_

Porthos had said those words six nights ago and yet Athos could hear them as clearly as if he spoke now. 

And why wouldn’t he, because Aramis looked absolutely beautiful like this, golden skin glowing with a fine sheen of sweat, lips parted in pleasure and eyes that fluttered and rolled back when Porthos’ hand dragged just so over the head of his cock. 

Porthos stroked him quicker and Aramis arched and perhaps he would have moaned out his pleasure had Porthos not sealed his mouth with his own.

A few more strokes and Aramis shuddered and his cock released a jet of seed up over Porthos’ fingers.  Porthos stroked him through it and smiled fondly when his lover sank back boneless against the bed.

Porthos watched him for a long moment before calling softly, “Aramis.”

His lover opened his eyes. 

“You’re so beautiful when you come.”  Porthos murmured. 

God yes and Athos had _no right_ to know it.

He had helped his friends, as he would always help them, and they had shown their gratitude but that did not give him the right to expect more, to want more and to be spying on them…

No doubt they would be revolted if they knew.

He forced himself away from the door, even though every step was like agony in his loins.  He needed a drink but there was no way he could make it down to the cellar and back so he stumbled back to his bed. 

He pushed down his smallclothes and when he gripped himself it was with the intention of merely bringing himself relief in a quick and workmanlike fashion.

_Porthos, lips parted, stifling his moans…_

Athos stroked himself firmly but then…

_…Aramis thrusting slowly… the tiny bob of Porthos’ cock…_

His hand slowed as he remembered.

_…the slide of foreskin against fingers…_

His balls tightened and he sped up.

_…Aramis arching and coming…_

And then the pleasure crested and wiped all thought from his brain.

  
-o0o-

  
“Athos was watching us.”

Porthos pressed a kiss to Aramis’ shoulder.  “I know,” he replied. 

Porthos had known that Aramis had left his door was just so slightly ajar, it had been these past few nights, and yet he had not moved to close it shut.  It was reckless to risk discovery but something about that narrow gap, inviting entrance, had felt right and so he had ignored it. 

Aramis looked at him.  “He liked what he saw.”

Porthos ran his fingers across his lovers brow, traced a path over the crest of his cheekbone and along the edge of his beard.  Aramis’ eyes drifted closed at the caress.  “He’d have to be blind not to.” 

Aramis rolled onto his side without opening his eyes and Porthos shifted down automatically to press against his back, slipping his legs between his lovers.

“His eyes often follow us now,” Aramis murmured, “when we are on horseback, at sword practice, even when we eat.”  He sounded sleepy.  “I do not think he is even aware of it.”

Porthos thought back to earlier in day, when Aramis had corrected his grip on his musket, something that he had done many times before, moving his hands, altering his stance with touches to his thighs and hips and…  He _had_ seen Athos’ eyes follow the movement and look quickly away when he saw Porthos.  At the time it had seemed insignificant but now…   “He’s aware now.”

“He is.”  The words were mumbled and Porthos barely caught them.

“What should we do?”

But Aramis was already asleep and didn’t answer.  
  
  



End file.
